#i tried to re-paint a frame from the anime

[cinnamonmon]

[minhosbitterriver]

──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees. 

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none. 

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work. 

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity. 

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly. 

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan. 

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward. 

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment. 

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance. 

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe. 

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through. 

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was. 

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read: 

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat. 

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared. 

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?" 

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached. 

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend. 

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy. 

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 @lixies-favorite-cookie @madewithchildlabor (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

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🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

[zoloxolo]

Project Thoughts: Thesis Film - Acquainting Painting [Sep 19 2024]

Starting today, I'm going to be journaling my thoughts on every personal project I'm actively working on. Not only does this help me keep on track on long-term projects that last more than a month, but I tend to regret not keeping up with a life journal when I was younger. I'll probably make multiple series for future entries on different topics, but for now, my current goal for the next few months is to make a film that can help me break into the industry... or maybe transfer to an art college before getting a job. Whichever comes first.

I would also like to add that this doesn't include projects that break NDA contracts for future jobs I may have in the industry.

Aight so I've been kinda losing sleep thinking about this project, only to soon realize the things I'm trippin out about isn't a big deal.

This is a schedule I created for myself so that i can finish my film on time. Tuesday was the last day in the storyboard phase, and I only have half of it done. I thought I was going to keep the majority of the boards I worked on in CSSSA, but as I was fleshing out the characters in my film's backstory, the more ambitious the film became. When I last worked on the storyboard, I ended up re-imagining the ending and trying figure out how i was going to board the middle part. And with the song im using only being a minute long, it can be challenging to fit a lot of important scenes in a few seconds.

To take my mind off of it, I tried working on one of the backgrounds this morning. It took about an hour just to get the perspective right on the rough draft after much u doing and redrawing. and I think that's when it hit me;

I dont need to have these backgrounds super duper perfect, or make this production feel super high quality. The thing that i need to focus on the most is the frame by frame animation, my dream job. After all, I'm the only person working on it. Maybe it'd be nice directing a short film in the future, but I can't afford to burn out this early in the production.

Other things that are keeping me from working on the film are class assignments that are due every other week, and life... i think it's funny that the most important year of my life ended up being my most traveled year ever, (against my will of course.) There are so many obstacles in my way from getting to where i need to be atm but It'll be so worth it by tye time I look back at this first entry.

[keefwho]

February 28 - 2024 Wednesday

10:43pm

6/10

This morning I dusted off my bookshelf and cleaned my little treasures as needed. I made a sort of stir fry using cheap ramen and stuff I'd usually put in stew. I made it how I make the stew just with less water and a little less cooking time. It was okay. I watched the beginning of the MLP Gen5 movie with Bramble and her friend while I ate.

I was once again unsure about work. I warmed up with some commission sketches but I wasn't rested enough to be at my best so I just did the best I could. I moved onto a new YCH which got a few takers so I did one for Storm on stream and started another. We watched Uncle Grandpa as filler while we sort out Rugrats.

After stream I tried reading the Acceptance chapter in my ACT book and was very enlightened. I got distracted halfway through by an XQC stream and a DM from Fiona that made me lose some respect for her. I ended up unfollowing because now Im just a little bitter and it's not like they will ever associate with me anyways now, so.

For lunch I made mac n cheese and fish sticks with a pear cut. I joined David for a round of Helldivers before sticking around to do my work. I did today's request and finished a pic of my otter. It get VERY loud and annoying in the server but I stuck around for some reason. Jared messaged me saying he was free for a bit and I wanted a break so I played 2 rounds of Helldivers with him. We both had to leave to do more work. I started a silly animation of my otter and sketched the pose for 6 frames. Then I worked on Plaz's world for a little over 30 minutes.

I was tuckered out and saw that Rousso had gotten Helldivers and was playing it for the first time in the TDS server so I joined him and others to help in his initiation into the game. I had to leave early because Jared called me. I thought he wanted to play Helldivers but we just chilled while he painted. Then Daisy became free so I started chilling with her instead. It was a very good thing too because I was honestly so tired mentally and socially, but she doesn't tire me out like that. We watched furry con videos and researched the recent Willy Wonka incident, among other AI powered scams. In bed we did puzzles and 102 Dalmatians.

~~~

More hard work today, I was surprisingly able to keep up with everything. Socially I felt like I was being pulled in so many directions and I didn't wanna let anyone down. There are other people I wanna get to as well but I'm re-learning my social limit. I determined it could help to stick to my rotating social list diligently so I can focus on different contacts at different times. If I followed that today, I likely wouldn't have been so overwhelmed.

3 things that made me happy today:

Socializing well with so many different parties.

Having a realization regarding acceptance of my own feelings.

Unwinding in Daisy's company.

[mi6015-mez]

Trying different programs for the 2D animation

Adobe animate is a program that I've been using a lot over this past summer as it was a requirement for the volunteer work I was doing animating for a small video game recreation. So I've learned quite a lot about animate, it's also a program that I can access at home, as opposed to something like TV paint. I did consider using ToonBoom but with such a huge skill requirement I don't think it would be a good idea to learn a whole new program and animate in it, all in time for the deadline. The other option that I want to try is Photoshop, I've used Photoshop a lot for drawing but I haven't tried animating in it, there might be a bit of a learning curve in that but i'm already familiar with the interface so i'll give it a go and do some testing

I did some simple animation exercises in both Adobe Animate and Photoshop to see which one I like the most for animation, these are the 2 programs that I'm thinking about using for the 2D character animation.

I started with Animate and just did a simple bouncing ball animation, animate has a good onion skin feature that lets me see the previous frames, also giving me the option to extend the reach of the frames that it effects both forward and back as well as toggle it on and off for multiple layers.

Next I did the same with photoshop, I haven't worked with photoshop to animate much in the past. So with this one I learned that the best way to do straight ahead animation is with video layers.

however, when I tried to duplicate the frame, it wasn't letting me edit the duplicated one since it was affecting all the previous layers, which basically means every time I want to make a slight alteration to the frame, i'd have to re-draw the frame entirely. Therefore Photoshop fails this test of animation, since I was able to effectively do this in Animate. If I have to make sacrifices and work around just to make the animation, that is going to take up a lot of my time. If there is a way around these issues then I have be unsuccessful in finding the appropriate tutorials, if this is the case, i'm better of using animate anyway, because I know how to do that in there already

Next I chose to do a simple walk cycle, just to see how easy it was to do in each software. Animate has a nice feature for looping your animation, where it lets you select the frame range you would like to loop, so if you only wanted to view a section of your timeline, you can do that really easily, it can also be easily toggled on and off.

Here's how the Adobe Animate cycle turned out like, this one was quite easy to make, the keyframes are easy to use and the onion skin works well for making the poses. I also like the way the layers work. The only downside is that there's only really one option for the brush type.

Next I tried doing it in Photoshop as well, I'm not going to re draw the frames from scratch as I just want to test how the interface is for animating. So I'll be referring to the poses that I made for the animate test but drawing it in Photoshop now instead. The good thing about Photoshop is the range of brushes that it has available by default, this could be useful for colouring and brush variety.

Here's how the photoshop cycle looks like, I was able to get pretty similar results with both software, there's no obvious difference between the two and this point it's just up to personal preference as to which one I use

Another thing to consider is brush variation, the brush you use can make a pretty big impact on the way your animation looks. This is the selection of brushes available in photoshop, there's lots of variety which allows for differences in style, although my character is quite simple, there might not be a use for any complex brush types

whereas in Animate, it's just variations of the same brush, the brush it's self isn't a bad looking brush, especially for a cartoon like character like mine.

Next I wanted to do a quick test on how gradients work, these are the Photoshop gradients, Photoshop is a more standard for photo editing so it would make sense for it to be good for creating gradients

That being said, the Animate gradients were able to re-create the Photoshop ones pretty well, so it seems like there's a good variation of options for gradients.

Overall I've had a much easier time animating in Adobe Animate, I made my turnaround drawings for the 2D character in animate as well, so I know that the brush fits well with my style. And there's always the pro that animate is made for animation, therefore it has a lot more features for it than Photoshop does. It was worth giving a Photoshop a try just to make sure

[faint-kitten]

I drew lifeline Drinking from a Juice box for a video I was doing in MS paint and made a gif of it.

(current gif, drawn and animated by me)

Notes:

In the video, I was using a pheonix kit which was purple, it was a half second of dead time I left in between "goofs" and I decided it was a "juice break"

The original idea was to just have her sitting there kicking her feet but that wasn't something I thought I could do. This led to me making a gif of lifeline drinking juice, the problem was I couldn't quite get her eyes to look right. So I just kept trying shit until I liked it. I ended up liking the beady eyes, so I animated them looking left and right. Didn't really like how mean it made her seem, so I added some bigger eyes for a second and it ended up making her look like she noticed something.

(Original gif, drawn and animated by me) I input the original gif into the video (queued for later today) and wasn't satified with it, so i started messing around with a torso. The original idea was a cute chibi thing where I'd hide her lack of arms behind the juice box, but the angle of her lips and the box meant I only hid one arm. I tried to make her arm stick out at an angle as if she was leaning back and it didn't really work, it looks like she's holding onto somthing. So my current thought process is: what if I put D.O.C there? I also want to re-visit the idea of her feet kicking, but they'd probably wag side to side. During this time I noticed she had no hair comming out from under her bandana and made an attempt to fix that. Once I had her arms, I knew I needed her shirt, once I had her shirt I knew I needed her booba, once I had that I knew her arms would need tattoos and basically it descended into "What can I draw, what am I willing to draw, how much can I leave out and still have it be lifeline." Her arm is supposed to have something on it, and her earpeice should have a coil emitting from it, but I would have drawn that and it would have led to no where. So for the current version it's left out. Hair is stupid hard for me, I tried several things for her buns and I'm not sure it wasn't smarter to just leave them plain red, I might take out the hair lines in future versions. I added the IV bag, and left out her pouch on her leg because that would simply be too much, what I'm thinking is, I re draw it, and I add DOC.

Her feet could waggle back and forth Her hip pocket and odd hand placement could be hidden by D.O.C. being there. And if he's just "sleeping" and perks up in the same frame she does, it might seem like they're scouting the battlefield or something. Idk it's a lot of effort for something that ultimately was for literally a 2 second part of a clip. In the end I'm happy with it, it's a bit messy (oh lord even as I look at it her hairline jumps right above her ear, my fault for trying to color select and copy and paste it. Typically all the drawing is done in MS paint and the head, the juice box, and the body are all separate elements. The head is easier to line up, so all I have to change are the eyes. Then just layer them and assemble them in GIMP, then export as a gif. I dunno if I'm going to work on a version 3 or not.

[cri8ive-scrapbook]

Of animation and inspiration

A little (pffff - sorry, folks, my text blog entries are *lengthy*) update on what's going on on the drawing board, and a great book recommendation!

Alright, so... lately I've been dabbing on an old passion that I had forfeit for many years; playing around with video editing software to create animated "lyrics videos" of songs I like. I am very much a Flash baby - I learned to use Flash in the early 2000s and was instantly won over by the great ease with which I could create little animated trailers with my still artworks, or nifty intros for my websites. But being also AuDHD, when Flash was discontinued, I felt too intimidated to try other video editing softwares where I'd have to re-teach myself everything, and gave up on animations altogether. It wasn't until about last year that I was drawn back to it, at first just for some short commercial videos I was commissioned by a client, and discovered an easy enough program like Filmora that allowed me to get decent effects in a simple interface.

The more I used it for work, the more I felt pulled to again create animation from my own art. I made some shy attempts, and the results were encouraging, but I also became aware of Filmora's limits so I'm now using a bundle of it plus Sony Vegas Pro for carrying out something that is as close as possible to what my mind sees. Being an amateur, self-taught and with great lacks in my artistic abilities, fulll frame-by-frame animatics are beyond my scope (possibly forever); but I can get a satisfying result through the interpolation of still pictures, some sfx, and music score to suggest moods and storylines.

When I work on my little "animated" projects, I always feel compelled to re-read Wendy Pini's Law & Chaos book. Because her approach to the Michael Moorcock's Stormbringer movie she wanted to make in her days as an animation student rings so true to my own experience. What I do in digital nowadays is essentially what she did with painstakingly and lovingly crafted traditional art back in the days; tell a story through the use of key scenes visualized in detail, with the artistic rendition (the inks, the perspective, the colors) in charge of the emotional response and a little additional help from technology and background music.

But there's more to this. Because Law & Chaos reasonates with me to a much deeper, personal level. The earlier pages where Wendy explains how her artwork had always been projected toward animation, how she had always wanted her characters to move, is something I could say from the depth of my own soul. Already as a kid I was more interested in the "movement" than in the finishing (which, I suspect, is why I was such a reluctant learner of techniques or more "technical" drawing); I used speech balloons to show the interaction between characters. I remember my mother would occasionally try to discourage me pointing out that comics distracted from the drawing; my poor mother, I think, associated art more with "traditonal" paintings. Occasionally, she would complain that "it'd be better to put up your drawings if it was just the art, without the speech balloons" and sometimes, to amuse her, I tried, but it seeemd to me that the pictures were then "muted", that the stories and dynamics I saw behind them couldn't be expressed because the characters couldn't "speak".

I was always conscious of my limits. I had seen documentaries on the cartoons I loved, and I knew that a lot of work went behind those smooth animations, and a snide part of me already as a kid knew I'd never be able to pull off anything like that. I was (and am) heavy handed; I delete and redraw so often that in the time of traditional art I'd always tear down the paper and that'd work me into a crying fit because then I had to redraw *everything else* and, on second try, the result was always, for some reason, below par with the first permanently ruined attempt. I wasn't patient. I wasn't nimble-handed. I longed to tell stories with my art - but animation seemed a world out of my reach. So I made "mini-comics" instead. I was content. "The small truth" (to quote the character Strongbow in Wendy Pini's independent comic series, the long-running ElfQuest), was enough for me.

Then... around the time I was 8 or 9, something unexpected happened. Computers arrived in Italy too, and quickly became popular, and next thing I knew not only we had them in school but a lot of my class mates had their own computers at home, and *then* suddenly I was reading up on computers, and *then* I suddenly had my own, and a new world of opportunities suddenly opened before me. When everyone and their cousin was hyped about playing videogames (Internet woudln't be a thing until some years later, and ADSL/WiFi until MUCH later down the line), I could only think of two things; a computer would allow me to have my fiction stories actually look like books and it would allow me to animate my drawings. Have them move, finally tell the stories they were imbued with - and without the need for speech ballons or any filters.

Such "wild" dreams from a learning-challenged kid of under-10, back in the late 1990s, can only sound hilarious in hindsight. Scrambling with Paint, creating "pictures" that I find repulsive today, I felt like I was doing something grandiose and one step closer to my dream of seeing my pictures come alive and tell their stories. I was soon to find out it wasn't so easy and computers didn't "magically" animate things - but, with all my limits, I no longer felt like I was a spectator watching on a world that would forever be out of my reach. I was a beginner, a rookie, on the amateur track still. But I had broken past he wall that separated me from that world of fancies. It would take time, it would take patience, but I was en route and now the journey could only go on. And on.

There were pitfallls, as there always are, and moments when I'd just grow so frustrated or have so many hassles to draw me away from that world completely. This, too, I found in Wendy's recollections in the Law & Chaos book. But there were also moments when my heart soared. When Internet became a thing, and I learned about animated GIFs, and the first thing I did was download a gif animator software and sketch a silly doodle of one of my wolves and animate it. It was crude, nonsensical, poorly executed, and if I think back about it today, I wince; but back then I felt like I was yet one step closer to the dream, and I cheered, and I was ridiculously proud of myself and of what I had done. Then came Flash. Another step closer to the dream. Short snippets, little more than "trailers" of RPs or spooky scenettes for Halloween - but it was *happening*. The first breath of life was infused to my still drawings. I'm writing this now before I delve back into the inks of my latest, current project; a full lyrics video, the second I've made since 2022, after two smaller projects (a series of flashes and a partecipation in a MAP video with other friends). If the first was just a test run to see "if I could do it", now I'm more demanding, with myself and with my tools. I'm using two video editors, not one, because I want the "theater of the mind" (thanks, Wendy!) to look exactly as I know it should. I'm trying to put as much work in every still image as I'll be able to. I have made a screenplay, with the exact sequence of each scene set to match certain moments of the music score. I have made a test-run with the rough sketches and am jotting down notes on what aspects will need to be fine-tuned (a more well-timed fade in/fade out effect, a better placed transition, etc). And I'm weeping with joy and going over this gem of a book again just as I'd told a long time friend "Remember all our talks on animation? Well I'm doing it now, I'm there, I succeeded!"

Because I've taken the final step, and now the dream - my dream - is becoming true.

[animated-wonderworld]

Spirited Away: My favourite film of all time

I will always be an outright lover of all things animation. From shows to films; animation to me, is the purest artistic form of expression visually. Of course not every animated film is spectacular or ground-breaking, but when there is enough passion and care put into the work, every frame can be a painting; every moment can be beautiful; every well-woven story can stick by your side like your own shadow. One of these films that encapsulate these beliefs of animated films is Spirited Away (2001) directed by Hayao Miyazaki, my favourite film of all time.

One of Studio Ghibli’s most popular films (if not, THE most popular out of their filmography), Spirited Away is following Chihiro, a stubborn and bratty young girl who gets transported in the Spirit realm with her parents who've turned into pigs. She gets hired as a bathhouse worker, under the employ of the witch Yubaba, and she must escape the realm and get back her parents before they’re all trapped, with her family stuck as pigs forever. 

I think one of the aspects that always draws me to the film is the journey of Chihiro within the film; when re-watching the film, I found myself stunned to see our protagonist so different in the beginning of the film. I mean, that is the nature of the character arc, but what I’m implying is that I’m impressed at how they made her progression feel so natural. At the start of the film, she’s annoyed that she has to move to a different place with complete strangers, being content with where she was at right then. As I said before “stubborn and bratty”.

Of course, these circumstances are ramped up to 11 as she’s transported to the completely alien Spirit Realm, her parents are turned to mindless pigs, and with no way out; she is absolutely alone. I think the film excels at reflecting the true emotions of children going through these sporadic changes. It’s scary; it’s isolating; you don’t know who to turn to. A lot of Ghibli’s films are like that (Kiki’s Delivery Service, Ponyo, Castle In The Sky), but while they are attached to other themes, Spirited Away is solely focused on the idea of childhood and maturity, allowing the film to explore it to its fullest extent through Chihiro. 

What helps add to her struggle is that she’s never given a helping hand in the beginning; she’s shunned and disgusted by her apparitional colleagues because she’s a human, and thus greedy (I would call racist but… we kinda are). And while she complains and struggles, it doesn’t stop her from trying. She pushes forward as well as she can, and it pays off. It may not seem like a riveting experience, watching someone work in a bathhouse, but I was so invested in Chihiro’s journey to succeed because she just tries so hard. There’s no other way to describe it.

We see her trials become bigger and more challenging, but as a bonus, she grows and matures to face the issue, with more of her colleagues to back her up. It’s a slow but natural progression of events, facing off against no-face (a secondary antagonist) and a dragon god of a lake, but the moments that stick out of my mind are those moments of quiet and contemplation; after a tiring shift at the bathhouse, or surviving a life-threatening situation, she faces them with the same stoic maturity she’s earned in the film. They’re oddly peaceful and beautiful. For Miyazaki, he calls these moments 'Ma', meaning emptiness; to recalibrate and recollect. Sometimes, I can’t even describe why those moments resonate with me so much; is it because they’re a much needed break from the chaos and insanity that the film’s world gives? Is it because they’re an abstract understanding about the peace of our surroundings? Is it because I yearn for those quiet moments in my own life? Who knows. 

As Chihiro matures, so do the characters around her. Yubaba, the workers in the bathhouse, No-Face, they all start off as antagonists driven by greed (a secondary theme to the film.) Yubaba strives for wealth and fortune, No-face constantly wants and eats and devours with no real way to stop, and Chihiro, in a way, is greedy for her time in her old life. But again, they all become better people through the help of Chihiro; No-Face finds a non destructive purpose that helps somebody else, the workers become more helpful and supportive, and Chihiro learns to accept the changes around her and move forward with her head held high. Of course, not all of the characters change for the better, but change isn’t for everyone. 

I think it’s a great sign that I spent nearly 800 words discussing the film and haven’t even gotten to the animation itself, and what else could I say other than stunning? As a lover of creature designs as well, I deeply adore the spirit designs, relying on the deep Japanese culture to influence their look. I also always appreciate when animators take time to create moments that make them feel more human; either Chihiro slightly tripping by a hill or prepping to eat. It’s a laborious process but it’s incredibly worth it. There’s something so satisfying seeing it in a different animated perspective. This isn’t even mentioning all the gorgeously detailed backgrounds and settings that look like they could be their own pieces of art.

I haven’t even gotten to discuss the well-performed acting from both Japanese and English voice actors or masterfully composed music by Joe Hisaishi. There are so many aspects of this film that I have barely scratched the surface of what makes this film a masterpiece. Spirited Away is a beautiful film about maturity in a scary new world and greed and how it can corrupt,  that's both invigorating and relaxing. Her struggles and growth are universal and brilliantly written; there's a reason why this is many people's favourite, and I hope this review illustrates why this is mine.

[smutandfluffohmy]

His Sweater

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George X Slytherin!reader A/N: This is written a bit weird? Uuu tell me what you think of the writing I’m trying something out. Summary: Slytherin! reader wonders around the castle and comes across George and Fred.

Read Part 2 here

I had a nightmare that night. I’m sure it was a horrible dream but I didn’t remember or perhaps I didn’t want to remember once I woke up.  The morning was not there yet but I could feel it, it was not early enough for others to be awake nor was it late enough to go back to sleep. I rose my head looking around the room hoping my roommates would for some miracle be awake; but everyone was still fast asleep. 

I got myself out of bed slipping my feet in the slippers. My pajamas bundled awkwardly around my thigh and knee, using my foot to tug it back in place. The dorms were warm but so quiet, I felt that this is what it must feel like to be the only person in the world. 

Walking out of my dorm and making my way into the common room I expected to bump into someone at any second, but I didn’t. I was the only one awake me, the kraken and the fire. 

Making my way out of the Slytherin common room I looked around the stretched out halls.I wondered who was awake at this time, why they were awake and what they were up to. Perhaps they were always early rises and they will be surprised to see me.

The usually loud halls were deadly quiet. I wonder if I’m dead, a curious thing it would be if I was because I don't remember dying.Looking around the halls, watching all the sleeping paintings that framed the tall halls. Despite walking down these halls hundreds of times they felt too big, too old and my bunny slippers felt too out of place. 

My mind started to wander, not enough that I didn't know it was wondering but enough to not keep my wits about me. 

Someone bumped into me , making me stumble backwards before a hand reached over and kept me on my feet. Looking up at who it could possibly be that bumped into me with the entire hall free. I looked up to see George Weasley’s eyes that were filled with worry and confusion as to who would be awake at this hour as if he himself wasn't awake at this hour as well.“Jesus Weasley you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“If you want I could finish off the job.” Fred sneered appearing from behind his brother.

Shooting him a glare I tried ignoring the burning spot growing where George was touching me “Haha very funny. What are you guys doing up.” I said straightening my already straight pajamas, cursing myself for wearing my green pajamas and white bunny slippers, I looked like a walking Slytherin banner.

George looked from me to his brother to my slippers before speaking “Could ask you the same thing.” he said.

“I asked first.” I retorted, scrunching my eyebrows together.

“Shame you’re outnumbered.” Fred shrugged hiding something behind his back. Technically they’re outnumbered if they would only count my bunny slippers.

Shrugging my shoulders I looked between them “Had a bad dream.”

“So you got out of bed to wonder the halls.” Fred said scrunching his nose at me.

“Your turn.” I said 

“Counting the paintings wanted to make sure they hadn’t hopped off the walls.” George said with a face splitting smile that seemed too bright and too happy for an hour when the sun wasn't even out.

“Fine I’ll just follow you two around if you’re going to be like that.” I said, maybe I’ll get another smile from George even if I had to put up with Fred.

“No.” Fred said spinning around walking in front of me, his hands still behind his back hiding water it was.

“You can’t stop me.” I answered confidently, as confidently as someone with no wand and no socks could sound.

George snickered beside me “We can.” he said. But his threat was empty, a sweet empty like an empty sweets wrapper.

Fred seemed to catch on to the tone in his brothers voice because he rolled his eyes before saying “Whatever hurry up we have lots to do, places to be”

George shifted uncomfortable besides me, Fred rhythmically tapped the thing in his hand, the silence too loud for us to ignore.I shivered from the cold and the awkwardness.

Fred laughs “Did you think Hogwarts was warm at 3am? In the winter? A bit dense aren't we.” he says stretching his arms over his head, my embarrassment spread across my face.

George broke my silent embarrassment “Don’t mind him he’s upset were awake this early.Here you can borrow my jumper” he said tugging the jumper off, messing his hair in the process. 

The color returned to my face, was it possible for someone to be attractive with bed head? Apparently it was. I just wish I realized this in a less compromising moment “Are you sure? Aren’t you going to be cold?” I said hesitant to take the offered jumper.

George smiled “I’m sure. I hardly get cold” he said putting my head through the jumper, the flappy arms hanging off my shoulders.

My thoughts left my head, I couldn't even remember what it felt like to have any. “Thank you I re-” I mustered out

Fred sighed making George and I jump, forgetting he was there at all “Barf. Can we hurry up.” He said. Putting my arms through the sweaters arms, smoothing out my hair trying to get rid of the static.

“What are you guys doing.You never said” I said speed walking trying to keep up with their long strides.

“Feeding the narwals the live around the castle I reckoned they were a bit peckish.” Fred said pointing at deep dark corners in the hallways.

“Narwhals live in the ocean.” I said, far too serious and far too matter a factly that made me wince inside.

“It doesn't matter they’re not real.” George said with a laugh tugging at his shirt collar.

“Mate...” Fred said with a mix of bemusement and a horrified look before laughing, shaking his head and continued making his way to wherever they were going.

“What?” George said looking from his brother to me, trying to figure out the punchline he felt we’ve hidden from him.

“George narwhals are real animals.” I said quietly to him.

“Oh.” George murmured his face getting as red as his hair, a task I didn't know was possible.

“Besides can’t tell you, you might go on and tell your boyfriend Malfoy.” Fred said waving me off. Now it was my turn to turn red.

“Yea can’t say we can trust a Slytherin with our plan.” George said with a hint of something in his voice and a different spring in his step.

“First of all Malfoy isn’t my boyfriend. Second I love a good laugh come on Weasleys spill.” I said, excitement running through me at the thought that I could be part of one of their pranks.

“I still don't think we can trust them.” Fred said looking over my head to talk to George.

“I don't think so either, feel like she’s a secret spy sent out.” George said pretending to whisper.

“Just tell me.” I said looking up at them, as they averted their eyes up to the ceiling. 

George let out a laugh “Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch game today so we’re hexing Slytherins area to turn into-” he said

“Gryffindor colors.” Fred said finishing the sentence his brother had started. 

“Hmm brillant but-” I said cracking my fingers, wincing at the loud sound promptly dropping my hand.

“But?” Fred said cocking his eyebrow at me, wanting and not wanting to hear what I had to say.

George mimicked his brothers expression looking down at me “I don’t think it gets more brilliant than that.” he shrugged.

“BUT.” I said poking both of the on the arms. “What if you changed our horns to cheer for Gryffindor instead.” I said, unsure if it could work or not but I’m sure if it could be pulled off the people to come to was the Weasley twins.

“Well take it into consideration.” George said, side eyeing me perhaps sizing me up or perhaps a bit crossed he didn’t pitch the idea first. I could feel myself beam at the thought I might have possibly contributed to a great Weasley prank.

Steps echoed through the empty halls. Stiffing at the sound the three of us froze, too unsure or afraid of the volume of our own voices afraid they might come out too loud and give us all away.

“Fucking hell someones coming.” George said barely above an audible whisper but it felt like he was shouting at the top of his lungs in that moment.

“Told you they’re was a mole” Fred scoffed at his brother eyeing me with fake anger and trying to hold back a laugh. Or perhaps he was in fact a bit crossed with me.

“Shut up. Go on I’ll take care of it.” I said stepping in front of them, shooing them away to continue on. Offering myself as a sacrifice, I only wonder if I was going to be a eye rolling encounter or an after class eraser dusting sacrifice.

“I knew they weren't a mole.” George smiled from me to his brother.

“Perhaps.” Fred said dragging out his s, not believing me until I proved it.

Rolling my eyes I took a step backwards “Go on carrot tops.” I smiled up at them.

“Oi no need to come after the hair.” Fred said in moving his hands up in defense, a laugh threatening to leave his mouth and running his aloof demeanor.

“I’ll be cheering for you Wesley. Even if you don't hex the horns.” I said smiling at George, I wondered what smile wouldn't give my crush on George but it didn't matter because I couldn't see it.

“Thanks glad to see I’m finally being appreciated.” Fred said puffing his chest out pretending to throw a bludger, a faint smile spreading on your face.

“Oh guess I’ll cheer for you too carrot top. Now go hurry” I said shoving them as I started running towards the source of the sound, my bunny slippers ears bouncing in different direction with each step.

Harshly stopping, and turning around “Wait George your jumper.” I shouted, a shouted only above a whisper but still too loud.

“Give it to me later!” George whisper shouted towards me a lopsided smile on his face, a smile I don't think I’ve seen on others.

“Earth to George hurry up.” Fred said slapping his brothers arms to get his attention that I’m sure he had as soon as he said his name.George turned to his brother as they ran side by side. “I think you’re carrot top and I’m Wealsey.”

“Ha whatever makes you feel better.” George laughed shoving his brother before running towards the Quiditch field.

[spacerockband]

Rewatching your animations and animatics is certainly inspiring. It's making me wnat to make my one stuff. But I must ask, what is your general animation process?

you sent this so long ago and i completely forgot to answer it im so sorry!!!

uhh my animation 'process' is actually a nightmare fueled by me working on random pieces that i get inspiration for in random orders hours and then dropping them and ignoring projects for weeks or months at a time. if you want actual specifics, though, i use clip studio paint for animation and stills and export those to adobe premiere to edit the videos as a whole! (probably going to have to find another vid program eventually because my college gives us access to the adobe suite and i really don't want to pay that subscription, though)

(also have used photoshop and autodesk paint for animating in the past both of which suck in their own special ways. autodesk does have a “flipbook” type style which was helpful to start animating on though, i just don’t like other parts of the program. clip studio ive found is the best program once you get over the extremely non-intuitive format and finally watch a how-to video, as i refused to do for a while)

for animatics specifically i often use not a whole lot of actual frame-by-frame animating, and often use more storyboard style still frames that i cut in premiere to get timing right- but as ive gotten better at animating i find i do this less and use more frames. this... obviously takes longer though

usually for animatics i fluctuate anywhere between 6-12fps, most often settling on 8 even though this is NOT the standard and im going to have to reteach myself a lot of timing stuff probably when i go back to 12. in my defense animating a bunch of long stuff by yourself is hard though and the cheap clip studio only lets you animate 2 seconds at a time. which is. ugh.

ummm oh also i often do really quick thumbnails in my sketchbook with the general expression/lyric or audio/pose and angle layed out so i have a reference point. it's very important to give yourself a little map to follow especially if you leave a project unfinished for months and forget everything you were going to do with it.

as for the animating itself lots of timing stuff i end up re-doing once or twice to make sure it fits the audio or music im timing it to (which i do a lot while im also teaching myself), and then go in and clean it up (or,, not, i probably should clean things up more than i do, though)

honestly animatics mostly was me jumping from doing comics to doing comics with audio, and then gradually working in animation skills as i figured them out lmao. (and taking an animation class, but i didn't start that way and neither do a Lot of animators)

OH! and learning about film was actually really really helpful for me in starting animatics- knowing about shots, timing, film theory stuff- and of course scott mccloud's making comics is a graphic novel ill never stop heralding.

i have no idea if this helps but i tried to cover as much as i could!! 

[blancamz]

“It’s Over Isn’t It” Reanimation progress

Honestly one of my favourite parts about animating is posting the WIPs online. Here’s the step-by-step of how I went about doing my reanimation for the end section of “It’s Over Isn’t It” from the Steven Universe episode Mr. Greg.

1) Idea and Prep

I was flicking through Steven Universe: Art & Origins. I think at the time I must’ve been between jobs or bored or something, because it came into my head to do a bit of animation based on the pilot style SU. I’ve always been quite fond of the pilot style, especially Pearl’s David Bowie / LaRoux look. The little tux design by Hellen Jo was quite snazzy as well, so I decided to have a go at doing a segment of “It’s Over Isn’t It”, using these designs.

I traced the turnaround from the book in Clip Studio Paint and approximated Jo’s design to it. At first I had the colour turnaround, but did the low-colour turnaround with the heads to give me a better idea of where the lines are and proportions of the body. I also get a clip of “It’s Over Isn’t It” and trim it down to the section I want to do.

This is a long one so strap in.

2) Sketch Pass

I’ll be using gifs that show the first 100-130 frames of the animation, because the full segment is 22 seconds long.

Very very loose animation of what I’m going to be doing with this segment, done in Adobe Animate. I have a video of the real segment in the corner of the stage and audio in the timeline, and closely reference them for layout and acting.

I’ve decided I want to go really nuts with the animation. Lots of angles on her face, smooth movement, secondary animation / follow-through on her various clothing elements. Technically her earring’s supposed to be on the other side but I want to animate that flailing around dangit, so I change it so it faces the camera.

3) Rough Pass

I tidy up the rough I did somewhat. It’s still very rough, but Pearl is better proportioned and the motion is more complete. I get a better idea of how she moves by focusing on drawing keys (the most important drawings) and breakdowns (drawings that help you figure out the motion a little bit, without full animation). I have Pearl, her suit, ruffles and earring on separate layers so I can turn things on and off or lower their opacity as needed.

4) Tiedowns

At some point between the rough and tie-down phase I realized that I’d been animating at 30fps instead of 25fps like I’d meant to, so I had to end up shifting all the roughs I’d been doing. Bad news: having to wrestle with getting the timings I’d so carefully planned out in the rough to still look good. Good news: I have to animate and clean up 5 fewer frames per second, so that’s 110 fewer drawings to worry about. Yussssss. For reference, the above clip has now gone from 132 frames to 107.

During the tiedown phase, I go over the roughs and more carefully try to match the proportions in the turnaround. I keep a flattened version of the first frame of animation to use as reference thoughout to prevent morphing. Sometimes when you’re animating, things will get bigger or small as you re-draw them, so it’s good to have a base drawing to refer back to and make the sizes stay consistent.

At this point I’m way more aware of reasons behind the big design change for Pearl between the pilot and the show. She’s so dang skinny and tall with that extra poof of hair up top that she’s really annoying to frame up. If you want to keep all of her in the frame, there’s going to be tons of empty space.

I also find that my turnaround isn’t enough reference for Pearl’s awkwardly-shaped head. I snap me a bunch of screenshots of pearl’s head from different angles and collate them into a big sheet.

5) Inbetweening

Inbetweening, aka filling out all the gaps in the timeline between the keys and breakdowns. If you’ve done your keys and BD’s well, inbetweening can be a pretty straight-forward.

But I’ve got like a million bits of secondary animation to content with, which means this still takes a significant amount of time. The hair and ruffles have to move a little later than the rest of the body, and some parts of the ruffles have to move at a different rate from the rest. I’m trying to animate like there’s wind since Pearl’s on top of a tall building. I keep animating until it feels good enough.

This is what my timeline and stage look like in Animate by this point. The animation is mostly on 2s, with some 1s, 3s and 4s thrown in when needed.

6) Cleanup and Colour

I did the cleanup in Toon Boom Harmony. As a program, I like it was more than Animate, even though it isn’t without it’s flaws. But it’s also really dang expensive. Fortunately, by this point I’d been working on the upcoming Deadendia series for Netflix. What with the pandemic, we were working from home and the studio gave me a license for Toon Boom. So I exported my frames from Animate, put ‘em in TB and started cleaning up.

I’ve found that cleanup is something that’s often offloaded to new or less experienced artists at studios because blah it’s just tracing the rough animation. But you’ve got good cleanup and bad cleanup, and a good cleanup artist will compensate for flaws in volume and have a good, clear and natural line.

I’m not terribly fond of doing cleanup myself. I feel I tend to end up rushing, which leads to sloppy work. I tried really hard to keep up a standard here.

7) Comping

a.k.a. Compositing, the final layering of the various elements before exporting a film. Another stage I don’t quite care for because of its nuances. Also drawing backgrounds.

I admit that I’m not very good at drawing backgrounds or environments. I tried to do the one for the second shot of this animation, since it was acutally really important. In shots 1 and 3, you don’t really see the ground or even the railing that Pearl is leaning on, but 2 is a wide shot. My first attempts at it were unfortunate. Fortunately my husband @joe-sparrow is both good at backgrounds and good at imitating the style and colour palette of the show. He volunteered to do the BGs and I accepted. See mine vs. his:

So yeah, get me some nice backgrounds, put the animation on top, then fiddle with a couple of elements in the comp to give things a little bit more depth. During this stage, errors that had happened during the animation progress that I hoped would just go away became annoyingly obvious, so there was a fair bit of going back to fix them.

So that’s how I done made this animation. I started April 2018 and posted in on January 1st 2021, so that’s over 1.5 years it took me to do these 22 seconds of animation. However, I wasn’t working on it continuously through that time. Sometimes I’d be working on it every day, other times I’d not touch it for weeks or months at a time. It really depended on how busy or whatever I was at the time. I think if I’d been working on it non-stop, it still would’ve taken me at least like 2-3 months to finish it.

If you made it to the end of this post, I hope you found all this information interesting.

Happy drawing.

It’s over, isn’t it.

[slashesotron]

Emoji Ask Meme Answers 💕

+ a bonus doodle from yesterday 💞

Atlas, Avery, Patchouli, & Juniper answers within!

ROMANTIC Atlas struggles a bit in terms of traditional romance, because he mostly shows his love by serving you! He’ll bring you food and drinks without being asked, take care of the household chores, and basically try to make your life as trouble free as possible.

Still, he’ll pay attention to what you like, and even do stuff like follow your tumblr / twitter / pinterest to get a better idea; don’t be surprised if those cute curry rice animals show up on your plate one day (though hardly as nice as the picture... he tried) or the pretty bouquet you pinned gets presented to you in real life!  

SLEEP This boy is a big cuddler. Even in his sleep, he’ll reach for you and snuggle up tight. He’s not picky on whether he’s big or little spoon, as long as he can feel your heartbeat.

SAD Atlas has spent most of his life mostly alone. The only family he has left is his uncle, who’s out on business most of the time, and his one good friend lives pretty far away. He’s grateful for the company and conversation when people come into the shop, but for the most part, he’s very used to doing things by himself.

ROMANTIC Patchouli is a very heart on their sleeve type of person. They tend to be very openly affectionate and readily say ‘I love you’... but mostly they show it through touch. Hand holding, shoulder squeezes, butt paps, cuddling, nuzzles. . . you name it, if they can reach you, you’re gettin’ it.

BEDROOM Atlas - The aesthetic in there is, very surprisingly I’m sure, black; the frames are black, the bug enclosures are black, his unmade bedding. There are band posters on the walls, most variously beat up, clippings from old magazines, flyers for concerts. All the logos are very spiky.

Aside from his bed, though, it’s actually pretty tidy. A bookcase filled with books, a desk with a computer; it’s lived in, but hardly messy. There are candles too, unlit, and some bleached animal skulls. One on something that might be an altar. It smells like old incense. There are also framed bug displays on the walls, various beetles, butterflies, moths, all sorts of things.

Taking up a lot of the room are terrariums and enclosures of various sizes, which house hissing cockroaches, a horned beetle, a praying mantis, a walking stick, a couple tarantulas, a very very big snail, and a pair of giant millipedes.

An electric guitar sits in a stand in a corner; a sleek, matte black, spiky thing, with bright chrome accents and a leather strap.

Patchouli - Their room is a bit similar to Ren’s, albeit with a darker (but mixed) aesthetic. Anime and nerd stuff, plushies, a bed that’s almost a nest with the amount of pillows and blankets on it. There’s a desk with a computer, a couple of video game consoles (including handhelds), art stuff. . . it’s usually very tidy.

SEX

Atlas will never touch you without permission, unless he’s so out of his mind he can’t help it. He does have the natural inclination to, say, grab your hips if you’re on top, but he’ll stop himself every time unless you’ve told him not to. The reason for this is the same as why he won’t make the first move; all power in the dynamic belongs to you, and this comes so naturally to him he would never question it. That’s not to say you can’t train him to ravish you, because you absolutely can - it’ll just take him some time to overcome his aversion to handling you that way, because at first it feels wrong.

QUIRKS / HOBBIES

Aside from playing guitar, caring for his bugs, and making insect displays, Atlas does some vulture culture stuff if he happens to find a good specimen... he also likes to hang out with / feed wild bugs. Catch him sitting on the forest floor surrounded by 800 snails after a rain. He just thinks they’re neat... 🐌

HAPPY

Atlas isn’t very vain, and his daily routine doesn’t involve a lot of preening. Every now and then, though, it’s time for his nails to be re-painted, especially since machining parts tends to chip his polish pretty bad (though he likes it a bit chipped anyway). It’s a relaxing process for him. He takes the time to do it nicely, and he’s pretty good at it from years of practice... then he makes sure they get the time to dry properly by watching a movie. It’s kind of his version of a spa day.

ANGRY / VIOLENT

As we know, Avery can’t ever get mad at his beloved, even if they do the things that would normally set him off into Stage VI (unless you really, really pushed your luck)... but other people aren’t so lucky. More than once, Avery has come out of a fugue state to find his knuckles bloody and a crumpled body in front of him- usually somewhere far less secluded than he’d like. 

It’s fine.

COOKING / FOOD

Avery LOVES cooking, especially if it’s for his beloved! He usually puts music on and sings while he works, and if you come within grabbing range you might get danced with! He loves to have your company, even if he doesn’t need help (and he usually doesn’t). Just be careful not to distract him too much or dinner will get burned... again.

SEX

Genuinely I don’t know what I could write about Avery sexually that I haven’t touched on already 🤔 I’m THINKIN’.... 

FAMILY 

Juni doesn’t really have any family! Unless you count the legions of Hell, of course. And they very much aren’t interested in starting a family of their own- unless that means a whole bunch of MC pets ;3

ANGRY / VIOLENT

Sometimes, when Juniper’s bored, they’ll go out at dusk and find someone wandering somewhere secluded, like in the forest or by the railroad tracks... and go all out with a very enthusiastic murderfuck. Usually these are later called horrific animal attacks, but it leaves everyone who sees it shaken. No animal attack they’ve seen looked like that. There were intestines in the branches seven feet away...  

RANDOM

Juniper paints on the walls of their cabin... on old pizza boxes... on the floor, sometimes. And maybe even on you! 💕 Naturally, this usually ends up leading to spicier things, and paint on you both.

SLEEP

Another big big cuddler. He’s almost aggressive in his sleep, tangling you into his limbs inescapably and burying his face in your neck. Gods be with you if you wake up and have to pee. When he sleeps alone, he tends to sprawl and take up the whole bed, and ends up messing up the blankets. He sleeps like the dead on account of being perpetually sleep deprived! 

[juliandev0rak]

Into The Wild  

Chapter 3: Goldenrod

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧

Words: 3055

“Willa! She took my beads!” 

“Willa, Lucio told us there are sharks in the lake, is that true?” 

“Willa I got a paper cut!” 

Willa takes a seat at the front of the arts and crafts cabin and takes a moment to breathe and re-center. She’s been at Camp Vesuvia for two weeks now, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t exhausted from being constantly on. Someone always needs something from her, and there's only so much coffee one person can drink to stay energetic and peppy through it all. 

She gives herself thirty more seconds to wallow a bit, and then she’ll get back to the campers. Willa breathes in slowly as she watches the little hand on her watch tick out the seconds, and exhales. Thirty seconds are up.

“Ok campers, gather up!” Willa calls, her enthusiasm only slightly fabricated, her smile only slightly tired. 

Thirty minutes later, the campers are happily working on their art projects and Willa has another chance for a break. She likes to give them free choice most of the time, they can do anything they want with the supplies in the cabin. Some of the campers are painting, others making bracelets, and one kid in the corner seems to be making a spaceship out of modeling clay. It's chaos, but Willa likes to think it's the organized kind, or at least the fun kind. 

She steps outside to check on a group of campers making flower chains, humming as she walks. The hum gets stuck in her throat as Willa stops, looking around the empty clearing in confusion, and then panic. The kids she’d seen only five minutes before have vanished, and though it's not unusual for campers to wander off to some other activity, they’re supposed to tell her first.

Willa is about to call Nadia for help when she hears a camper’s voice say, “Is that a wolf!?” 

The word “wolf” puts her on alert and Willa hurriedly follows the sound of the camper around the side of the arts and crafts cabin. She sighs in relief at the sight of the kids she’d been looking for. And sure enough, they’re busy petting a large black wolf. 

Her first instinct is to pull the campers away, but the wolf looks up at her with kind eyes and Willa realizes that she knows this wolf. “Inanna! What are you doing here?” She scratches her behind the ears and Inanna sniffs at her hand happily. “Is Muriel around?” 

Inanna stops licking her and turns towards the building next door, a storage shed with a door ajar, and Willa realizes that Inanna is giving her directions. She turns towards the campers first to give them a quick lecture on not approaching unfamiliar animals, especially wolves, and sends them back inside. Muriel steps out of the storage shed and nearly hits his head on the top of the door frame in his surprise as he sees Willa.

“Muriel! Over here!” she calls, waving him over. For a moment it looks like he’s going to walk away, but he finally turns towards her. He stops several feet away and Inanna trots over to his side.

“Can I help you with something?” Muriel asks.

“I was just wondering what you’re doing,” Willa smiles, leaning down to pick up a flower one of the campers had dropped on the path. It’s a dandelion, some people would call it a weed, but Willa has always liked those sorts of flowers best. 

“I’m working.”

“What are you working on?”

Muriel looks at her warily. “You ask a lot of questions.” 

“Yes, I’ve been told that before,” she laughs, her fingers busy twirling the stem of the flower.

“I help Nadia sometimes, around the camp. There was a light out in the shed,” Muriel explains, pointing back towards the small cabin he’d just exited.

“Oh, we’ve got a lightbulb out in the arts and crafts cabin too! I uh, couldn’t reach it and i couldn’t find a ladder or I would’ve changed it myself,” Willa turns towards the still open cabin door. She points to the back corner where a lightbulb flickers faintly. “If you’ve got a minute, could you replace it?” 

Muriel regards her for a moment and then turns to walk away in the opposite direction. She watches him incredulously and walks back into the cabin with a huff, “How rude.”

A few minutes later, Willa is busy helping a camper with a tangled bracelet when Muriel enters the cabin. A few of the campers greet him as “Ranger Muriel” and Willa can’t help but smile at the way he greets the campers back. He knows a lot of their names and seems interested in the projects they’re working on.

“Where did you go?” Willa asks as he approaches her table.

“To get a lightbulb.” He holds it up to show her and crosses over to the left side of the room where the dead light is.

“Oh,” Willa says, feeling bad for assuming he was being rude. “Thank you.” 

It takes him only a minute to change out the lightbulb, but when he’s done he doesn’t leave. Instead, he walks over to where Willa is sitting, awkwardly hovering for a minute before she notices him and looks up.

“What are you working on?” he asks. It takes him a minute to get all of the words out, as if the question took a lot of effort to ask.

“I’m making a friendship bracelet!” She holds it up to show him. It’s a design of her own making, a repeating pattern of different kinds of leaves all made in green thread. If a certain green-eyed park ranger was the inspiration for the color palette, she’ll never tell. 

“It’s nice.” 

“Thank you!” Willa says proudly, setting the bracelet back down carefully. “Would you like to make one?” 

Muriel takes a step towards the door. “I should get back to the station.” 

“Of course. Feel free to stop by any time!” she smiles. He gives her a nod as he leaves, and Willa’s attention is soon pulled away by campers.

Later that evening, Willa finds herself huddled over the fire pit mourning the loss of yet another marshmallow. She can’t seem to toast a marshmallow without catching it on fire. Asra comes over to watch as she tries again, and this time goes marginally better, she’s able to blow the fire out before her marshmallow burns to a crisp. 

“I wouldn’t eat that,” Asra says, eyeing the charcoal colored marshmallow. 

Willa adds a piece of chocolate and smushes it between two graham crackers without a care. She eats the s’more in one giant bite, wiping chocolate off of her chin as she chews. “Well, it’s a good thing that was my marshmallow then.” 

“You’re bad at s’mores,” Asra frowns.

“There’s no wrong way to s’more, Asra, you’re a marshmallow snob!” Willa points the end of her metal marshmallow skewer at him and he backs up, holding his hands up defensively.

“I am not, I just prefer my s’mores to be edible.” 

“Perhaps my tastebuds are more developed than yours,” Willa teases, “I can appreciate the delicate flavor of blackened marshmallow.” 

“Sure, you just keep telling yourself that,” Asra laughs. He walks off to join the rest of the camp staff on the other side of the amphitheater, leaving Willa to her marshmallow pyromania. 

“You’re too impatient, you have to cook it low and slow,” the now-familiar gruff voice comes from behind Willa, startling her.

She turns towards Muriel, her face pulling into a grin at the sight of him, “You came!” 

Muriel’s lips pull up into the barest hint of a smile as he looks back at her, but his eyes quickly shift away. “You’re a fire hazard, I had to make sure you weren’t going to set the forest on fire.” 

“It’s not my fault all the marshmallows spontaneously combust!” 

“You’re too impatient,” Muriel repeats.

“I am not impatient!” Willa frowns and shoves another marshmallow onto her skewer, nearly stabbing her hand on the pointy end. 

“Careful,” Muriel eyes her cautiously, keeping a safe distance away from the sharp end of her stick.

“Fine, if you’re so good at roasting marshmallows show me how to do it.” Willa holds the skewer out to him and he grabs it, their hands briefly touching as she passes it over. They both recoil as if they’ve been burned and Muriel clears his throat as he turns away from her and towards the fire. 

“Hold it over a smaller piece of wood, away from the fire.” Muriel demonstrates, holding the marshmallow low over one of the smoldering logs instead of putting it directly into the fire as Willa does. She watches him intently, but she’s looking at his face rather than the marshmallow lesson. In the firelight, she traces the sharp line of his jaw with her eyes, marking the shape of his nose, his eyebrows, his lips. 

“See?” Muriel hands her the skewer, breaking her out of her daze. Sure enough, the marshmallow is perfectly golden brown, not a burn mark in sight.

“You’re a wizard, this has to be witchcraft,” Willa marvels. But even magical marshmallows need to be eaten. She prepares a s’more and hands it to Muriel, who seems quite surprised to be handed the sweet treat.

“It’s not magic, it’s patience.” Muriel takes a bite of the s’more and Willa watches as his eyes close halfway and his lips pull into another rare smile at the taste. He must like sweets, Willa makes a note to remember that. Maybe she’ll bake him something. She notices a bit of chocolate on his cheek, next to his lips, and reaches up to brush it off without a thought. 

“You had chocolate on your face,” she explains as Muriel pulls back in surprise. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Muriel looks away, but the fire is just bright enough to illuminate his blushing face.

“Alright, I’m gonna try it,” Willa changes the subject, sparing them both the awkwardness. She prepares another marshmallow, gently rotating it over the log as she’d seen Muriel do. 

Her marshmallow is not quite as perfect as Muriel’s was, but it still tastes great. Whether it's the amount of sugar she’s had or her proximity to Muriel, she feels more awake than she has all week, and bolder too. “I made you something.” 

“You— what?” Muriel’s eyes widen as he looks at her.

“I made you a friendship bracelet.” Willa reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls the bracelet out. She doesn’t know when she decided to give it to him, but it feels like he should have it. 

“A friendship bracelet?”

“Yes! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Willa holds it out to him and he takes it, holding it carefully as if it’s breakable.

“I guess.” 

Willa laughs, shaking her head at his comment. “You saved me from a bear, that makes us friends.” 

Muriel holds the bracelet in the palm of his hand, his eyes still glued to the green woven threads. “You don’t have to give me this, are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure, I made it with you in mind,” Willa admits. “Here let me help you put it on, if you want.” 

Muriel holds his wrist out, and when Willa’s hand rests on his arm they both freeze, looking at each other briefly before their eyes move away. She tries to focus on the task at hand and carefully ties the bracelet onto his wrist. His skin is so warm against hers, and his hand is calloused. Willa resists the urge to run her fingers along the lines of his palm, but she still lets her hands linger longer than they should. 

“There. I think it suits you.” Willa takes a step back and sits down on the amphitheater bench, stretching her legs out in front of her. Muriel hesitates for a moment before taking a seat next to her, closer than she would’ve expected. They sit in companionable silence for a minute until two campers run up to ask Willa a question. 

“You’re good with them,” Muriel comments after the kids have scampered off.

“The campers are sweet, most of the time,” Willa smiles, thinking of some of the more mischievous kids she’s met over the last few weeks. “I think it must be hard to be away from your family for so long, eight weeks is a long time for a child.” 

“Mmm,” Muriel agrees. He busies himself with tracing the leaf pattern on his bracelet, his fingers working their way around the trail of leaves and back around again. 

Willa leans back, tilting her head up towards the sky and the stars which are just starting to appear. “I was shy as a kid, and I pretty much only had my family since we lived in the middle of nowhere. I think a camp like this would’ve been good for me. I did go camping with my family a few times, but that’s not the same. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?” 

“No.” 

“Do you have any siblings?” 

“I never knew my family,”  Muriel replies, looking vaguely uncomfortable at the admission.  

She turns to look at him, but he keeps his gaze fixed to the ground. “I’m sorry.” 

Muriel nods at her sympathetic comment and turns to look up at the sky. He shoves his hands into his jacket pocket and sighs, his voice a bit softer as he asks, “Do you have siblings?” 

“I’ve got two brothers, one older and one younger,” Willa replies, her thoughts turning to the family she left behind to move to the city. It's been years since she last saw her brothers, and being in a place like this makes her miss them more than usual.

“Do you miss your family?” Muriel seems surprised at his own question, as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“I miss my brothers, but my parents... well, I think we get along better from a distance,” she sighs. “Things are complicated.”   

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok.” For a moment Willa thinks about saying more. She wants to tell him everything, where she’s been, where she wants to go. She’s pretty sure that he’d listen. But Willa’s not ready for that yet, she doesn’t want to ruin the fragile friendship they have, so she changes the subject again.

“A few of us are going into town later since we have tomorrow off. There’s a little bar that does karaoke on Friday nights, Asra and Portia roped me into it. You could come with us if you want.” She has a feeling she already knows what his answer will be, but she doesn’t want to miss out on the slight chance of spending more time with him. 

“I don’t sing.” 

“Well, I must warn you, if you don’t go you’ll be missing out on Asra and I dueting every song in ABBA’s discography, complete with choreography,” she says. To her surprise Muriel laughs, the sound deep and gravely and somehow very comforting. Willa joins in with him, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face.

“I hope you have fun.” 

“If I come back tomorrow with my voice gone, blame Asra,” she laughs, looking across the fire at her friend who is busy talking to Nadia. 

A few moments pass in silence as Willa watches sparks fly from the fire, bright spots of gold standing out against the dark sky. Finally she looks up at Muriel, her breath catching a little in her throat as she tries to think of something to say. She wants to ask him to stay, to spend more time with her, but instead she says, “Thanks for showing me how to roast the perfect marshmallow.” 

She playfully nudges his shoulder with hers and Muriel looks down at her. He stiffens a bit but doesn’t pull away as she lets her shoulder rest against his arm. Then suddenly Asra is standing in front of her and Willa pulls away from Muriel, trying to hide the way her face flushes. 

“Willa, you ready to go?” Asra asks, giving her a teasing grin.

“Yep!” Her voice is a tad too loud and she winces at the squeakiness. She stands up and brushes dirt off of her jeans, turning back to look at Muriel again. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“I’m sure.” 

“I’ll see you around, then.” Willa turns away, taking a step towards Asra.

“Willa, wait,” Muriel calls, and her heart leaps into her throat as she looks back at him.

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you for the bracelet. It’s nice,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear him.

“You’re welcome! We’re friends, that’s what friends do.” She gives him one last smile and turns to follow Asra and Portia out of the amphitheater.

“So, ‘friends’ huh?” Asra teases.

“Shut up or I’m not singing Mamma Mia with you,” Willa grumbles.

Asra puts his arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. “You wouldn’t be able to resist.” 

“I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m usually right. And am I also right in guessing that you have a crush on Muriel?” 

“Oh please, that’s not a guess, that's just an obvious fact,” Portia adds. “Even the campers know about it.” 

“They do!?” Willa’s eyes go wide, wondering how the whole camp could possibly know when she’s only just figuring it out herself.  

“Yeah, earlier I heard a camper say that they ‘ship it’,” Asra laughs. 

Willa puts her head in her hands, shaking her head in dismay. “Oh no.” 

“So...you’re not denying it?” Asra asks. Willa’s car comes into view as they walk up the hill towards the front of camp and she tosses her keys at Asra.

“You can drive.” 

“Answer the question,” Portia prods as she gets into the back seat of the car. 

“I’m not denying it.” Both of her friends turn to look at her with mouths wide open in surprise and Willa flushes red, focusing her attention on buckling her seatbelt. 

“So you admit it then, you have a crush on him?” Portia grins. “Oh, I definitely have a crush on him,” Willa sighs.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Asra asks. 

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

✧

[albino-whumpee]

To me, you are...

This is a heavy one so please go carefully. It deals with a lot of dubious heavy stuff like slavery and the relationship between captor and captive. And, to answer the anon who asked what Zarai saw Albus as, if more as a pet or a friend, here´s your answer.

I´m a bit behind schedule, so I´ll be posting them in the next few days. 

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

CW// box boy blanket TW, pet whump, bullying, defiant whumpee, noncon touch (non sexual), conditioning, discussion of ownership and fucky views about slavery, intimate whumper, diffuse line between caretaker and whumper, lima syndrome, self sacrifice, collars, grief and anxiety attack.

Lunch breaks were the best part of the day for the albino. He would meet up with Sasha and Tony at the food truck down the street, settle down on a bench together and order two crunchy tacos Zarai would disapprove of, saying they weren´t real tacos, but the boy would gobble them up regardless. Lunch breaks were the only times of the day he could relax, after all. Even just a bit. 

The atmosphere at the office had just started to get somewhat calmer after Zarai´s intervention. Albus’ cheek had a fading yellow bruise when he went back to the building with Sasha, talking excitedly about Sann´s progress with sign language.

“Thank you for spending the last Saturday with us” the albino said, smiling as they passed their cards over the scanner and moved to the elevator “He has been nonstop studying since then” he passed a hand to his neck, feeling the collar under his clothes “I’m starting to get worried I won´t be able to follow him someday”

 “Why´s that? We can always practice at lunch” Sasha signed perfectly after punching the buttons to their respective floors. Slowly so Albus could watch her movements perfectly. 

“I mean, yeah, but-” the boy flinched when Sasha lifted her finger and shook it in front of him. The boy sighed and put his hands up “I´m just afraid I won´t understand him” he signed even slower, mouthing the words under his breath.

“You´re doing your best, Al” she signed using the white gesture. Albus cheeks flared up remembering Sann´s words when he gave him his sign name.

The other pet had put his extended hand over his chest and then pulled away as if taking a pinch of salt. Sann had told him it was like taking a part of your heart and giving it to the other person. A sign for kindness that meant white, perfect for someone like Albus, the other boy had said smiling at him.

Sasha elbowed him back to reality “Trust yourself you can do it, ok?” she signed with a gentle gesture on her face that made him smile as they came out of the elevator and walked through a hallway to Zarai´s office “Also he learns too quickly, it´s quite scary! I couldn´t have learnt to read and write all by myself at all, so trust me. You´re doing just fine and normal” she finished signing with a pat on his back the boy winced to before patting himself. “Just try to watch your mouth when you sign and…wiggle your eyebrows more, yeah? Gotta emphasize” she said walking away.

Albus groaned as he straightened up “I still do that?” he shouted across the hallway. Sasha nodding with an apologetic face. He sighed before he signed bye to her, already turning on a corner. 

 He then took a deep breath and stepped into the large room and walked with eyes cast down to Zarai´s office, feeling too many eyes nailed on him. He just had to get used to the piercing glares and low murmurs in the air. He couldn´t make a scene again. 

 However, Albus jumped away when he felt someone get too close and heard someone laugh as he recomposed. 

 “Sorry, what´s it Jeremy?” the albino said looking at the blonde blocking his view from the other people as he stepped forward. He blinked amused when he saw Jeremy standing between him and the door.

 “Sorry, Sir. But, uh, Mr. Glass is inside the chief’s office” he whispered just low enough for both of them “Should I tell him to go, Sir?” Jeremy asked with genuine worry in his voice that warmed Albus’ heart. 

 In the last weeks, he had stood up by his side and tried to not leave him alone. That got him some side eye from other coworkers, but he didn´t seem to care and he was still as efficient as always, just slightly more tired though. Maybe he thought he didn´t realize, but he was deeply thankful to find a kind person among the cutting edges the office had turned into. 

 “Thank you for telling me, Jeremy. But I´m ok, go take your break” He said with a forced smile. Jeremy opened his mouth but closed it and stepped out of his way. He settled his hand on the handle and stepped inside to find Robert Glass with the framed photo on his hands, leaning against the desk. “Mister Glass”

 Robert´s eyes lifted up to see the albino closing the door behind him, smiling as he set down the photo back on its place. 

 “There you are. I wanted to speak with you” He said, lifting himself from the desk and walking closer to the albino. “Oh? What happened to your cheek?” he said lifting a hand to stroke him, amusing himself when the albino flinched and he had to grab his chin to force him to look at him “Hey, hey, didn´t they taught you not to move away?” Robert said, feeling the pressure he was putting on his jaw underneath his fingertips. 

 “Yes, from my owner. Not you, Mister” The albino said through gritted teeth. Robert let go with huff. Albus tried to shove down the disgust and replace it with his usual poker face. Couldn´t be too hard to force it up again. He had been doing it since he stepped out of the box after all. 

 The albino breathed in as he saw the man walk away, passing his hand through the stuff scattered around his desk. All of it lined up exactly like Zarai wanted to. 

As the albino saw his hand hover curiously around his things, Robert fixed his eyes upon another painting on the wall. 

 “That´s not what you said with Jefferson was it? I mean-”

 “You´re not here to talk about me are you, Mister?” Albus interrupted him, his chest brewing with newfound anger. “Sann is absolutely fine now, if you wondered”

 “Oh no, I came to talk about you exactly” Albus frown grew deeper, eyebrows tightening when he put his hand up. “Don´t worry, I won´t touch you. I only came to talk” he giggled, picking up the stress ball over the shelf and bouncing it on his hands side to side. 

 “You know? People think Pets aren’t people anymore. More like animals or objects” he started, stepping closer to the stiffening albino. A smile formed on his lips “I know some refer to their own pets as it, but do you know why I don’t refer to Sann or you like that?” He said in front of Albus. Lifting one arm up to trap him between the wall and himself. “Because you’re a person, of course” he giggled. Before he simply stared at him from above. Like a hawk above the trees just waiting for the perfect moment to dive for its prey. “Doing to you what you couldn’t to any other human… that’s the thrill of owning a box boy” He whispered to his ear, a freezing chill ran through his spine at the sickly sweet tone of his voice “Zarai knows that too”

 “There’s info she has been hiding from you” he began. Sweetly noticing the confusion in his face “A boxie can buy back their freedom if they pay for their contract”

 It hit him so hard, Robert was enjoying seeing his eyes widen with each word. He kept his grimace hidden and continued to explain to the dumbfounded albino.

“Of course, it is almost impossible to buy something when you’re not even allowed to be paid in most cases…unlike you” 

 Albus breathed in deep. Processing the new info and checking if it was info he should believe or not. 

 “Is that really possible? I-I-I could really…I could even-” Robert knew by the way his eyes widened that the question he had come to install on him had settled. Already knowing which words would come out of his mouth after that. 

 “However” the man interrupted him “It´s a one-time chance thing. Only one contract each” he noticed the drop of sweat going down the albino´s face as his smile widened “If I were you I would think it more thoroughly, Albie”

 —-

 After her meeting was over, Zarai walked to her office and thought it was odd people stared at her. She opened the office’s door to find Albus talking with Robert.

 The boy turned his head to see her and then back at Robert “Goodbye, Sir” he said with clenched teeth before opening the door. Zarai caught his arm before he walked away and pulled him closer.

 “What’s going on here?” She whispered.

 “Nothing really, princess” Robert interrupted their conversation. Albus closed the door with a short sigh. 

 “Then what did you come all the way here for? You should know by now you´re not welcome here” She said with fire in her eyes. Robert made his jaw work but hid it with a smile.

 “Zarai, darling, when were you going to tell him that he could buy his own liberty?” Zarai’s eyes widened slightly before she recomposed. “You let him win money, but you didn’t give him an object to spend it on. Doc Martin from Marketing would be really disappointed with you”

 “Albus, go outside and wait for me at the rooftop” she ordered the boy who quickly set off. Silence sat in the room as Albus closed the door “What are you playing, Glass?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

 The man snorted and whistled “I was being honest with him. Might want to do that more often. Do you even know what he said when I told him?” His hands shot up in a dramatizing gesture. “‘Is that really possible?’ With eyes all sparkly and hopeful! You might wanna help him understand that even if it is possible, he shouldn’t be showing that emotion” Robert kept talking but when he noticed she was quiet he talked again “Were you planning to even tell him Zarai?”

 The woman avoided his eyes, “…eventually” Robert laughed.

 “Well, would you have told Sann about it?” She exploded.

 “Don’t get confused princess. I didn’t give Sann the means to buy himself out of this. That’s all” he shut her down immediately. Robert gave her a sympathetic smile. “You are so lonely, so desperate to have someone on your side, you are forcing the only one who can’t displease you, to stay with you” Zarai inhaled hard “It’s alright though. I understand you better than anyone” he said stepping closer.

“Nobody wishes to be left alone, after all. Animals won’t help loneliness as much as a human would, so we buy pets for our broken hearts and call it love when they laugh with us” Finally Robert towered over her before talking into her ear the few words she didn’t want to hear ever “but they won’t ever be the family we lost, Zarai. No matter how much they look alike or how much they need to be cared for, they’re not Sirius, nor Jarred, Charlie or Fran”

 “He´s not a replacement, Glass. I´m not like you” she battled the tears prickling behind her eyes.

 “I know, he’s not that kind of replacement” he leaned to whisper on her ear “I know we are not playing the same game Zarai” he said stepping back as the woman’s head spun and pulsed with how hard she was clenching her teeth “You never wanted a secretary to help you. No, you never needed him to be your secretary” his lips twisted into a smile “You aren´t made of ice. You could´ve taught them just like you did with him. But you never would´ve been so patient with anyone that could leave would you?” he said enjoying the small frustrated gasps coming out of her.

 “¡Suficiente!” She yelled pushing him away. “If you are so sure of it, why did you keep Sann? What was the point in that huh?” Robert finally shut his mouth for a second. “If Sann is just a fake why keep him around?”

 “For the same reason as you. We’re so lonely we bought ourselves company” he admitted. Making Zarai burst into tears.

 “Vete” he stayed still “AHORA, Glass! FUERA!” she screamed before the man walked out of the office with a grim face. 

 “You know I’m right”

 She slammed the door closed on his nose. She waited a while, trying to calm herself down, but the violent tremble wouldn´t stop.

 Suffocating and sweaty and feeling too heavy on her chest, she stepped out of her office and didn’t even bother to cover the furious tears rolling on her cheeks until she let it out on the elevator to the rooftop.

 She passed to the bathroom to put herself together.

 When was the last time she hid in a bathroom to cry like she was? College? No, a year after the accident. When she came back to work and all of the sudden after one of her meetings, she just couldn´t stop herself from tearing up. Then she went back home to cry on the kid´s beds clenching their clothes before she fell asleep. No, wrong the last time had been a few weeks before Albus came. 

 She heard the water run as the realization roamed in her mind and concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out. Since he came to her life, she hadn´t had an anxiety attack.

 Every day for the last eight months, she woke up to homemade breakfast and a good morning, she went to work and had the exact thing she needed on her hand without asking, she went to sleep and her fingers lazily unbuckled the boy´s collar before he wished her good night.

  For the last months she had glanced back over her shoulder and found the albino immediately turned attentively at her. 

 Her breathing hitched as tears rolled down without being able to stop them. 

 For the last months, she always had someone on her side making her company.

 Just like she requested on the WRU form.

 “Ha ha…I really am a monster” she whispered to herself with a sniff “A lonely…lonely monster, just like he said…”

 It took a long time before she recomposed herself and walked to the rooftop garden where Albus was waiting for her.

 His hair had grown a bit and had gained some weight. He was not the dirty, malnourished box boy on a crate anymore. He was the best assistant she had ever had, and a simply adorable and promising kid. Her hands fell on the handle and doubt overwhelmed her for a second.

  In the end, Zarai opened the door and Albus turned to see her with mild surprise. Fixing his posture and face when he recognized her and followed her movements. 

 If she asked him, if she let him buy it…what would he do?

 She had no other way to know than asking and her heart broke when the boy widened his eyes and sulked on the plastic chair in the roof, rounding his thumbs one over the other, before he breathed out and looked up at her. 

 “I made a promise to you, Ma´am” the boy said calmly, crimson eyes looking at her as he wetted his lips “And I intend to keep it. But…I had enough time to think about it here” he looked around the roof, seeing the whole city under him but eyes fixed on the ocean beyond the beach. He turned back to see her with a light frown on his face, looking too young all of a sudden “I´ll make a request, and this will be the only one I´ll ever ask from you, Ma´am”

 As the breeze carried his words to her, she froze. She saw the way the albino smiled at her, a bold pleading on his eyes she couldn´t refuse. After a long silence, she agreed. With a big smile to hide the sadness underneath, Albus thanked her.

 The reason for their agreement would be completely secret from the other two, no matter what happened, both vowed not to tell either Sann or Claude about their deal. 

 At night, her hands had trembled when she was supposed to loosen up his collar to sleep like every night. And the albino had looked at her with those big crimson eyes that softened as he settled her hand over his collar and she finished the task.

 “Good night, Ma´am, Mister” he had said before walking through the door. 

 “Goodnight, Albus” she had replied back and curled closer to Claude. 

 She would wonder later, why she had agreed to it. Why didn´t she stop him or offered the backup way she had planned to give him from the beginning, but she quickly found her answer when she looked over her shoulder and found, always found, the albino trailing behind her.

 She agreed, because for her, Albus was company that wouldn´t ever go away.

[melancholic-pigeon]

WIP Wednesday #15

Since Jason's birthday is tomorrow and all, I'm doing something longer as a treat. A triptych, if you will!

Content warnings for child abuse and neglect, alcoholism and food insecurity.

Thalia wakes up, like she usually does, to Jason curled against her with his fingers in his mouth. She can't easily put him in his crib by herself, but her mattress is on the floor and there's nowhere for him to fall, so she can ensure that she's there to hold him whenever he wakes up crying. Her shirt's a little damp, but this time it's just because he's drooling in his sleep. Last night, thankfully, was free from disruptions.

For him, at least.

He's a year old today, and she hasn't seen their mother since two nights ago, slumped on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka on the ground next to her. The door to her room is closed. Whether she's in there sleeping it off or out somewhere getting drunker, Thalia has no idea.

Bitterly, she doesn't care. It's not like their mom cares about them, either.

Jason yawns, his hair sticking up like a cockatoo's feathers. The first eye contact of the morning always leaves him giggling and reaching for her, and the feeling of his small, warm body flopping onto her brings her focus back to where it should be.

"Happy birthday, shrimp."

"Happy," he repeats, nosing at her stomach.

It's up to her, like usual, so she gets him dressed and ready and gives him the last of the cereal to occupy himself while she digs through her closet to find the old coffee can she stashed there.

Every time she thinks she can get away with it, she lifts a bill from their mother's wallet and puts it in the can. Every nickel she finds on the street, every dime she pulls from the couch cushions; it all adds up, a little at a time.

After carefully saving as much as she could for the past few weeks, she's squirreled away enough. She takes out a fistful and stuffs it in her pocket, then re-buries the can under a pile of her laundry.

Today's special, and she'll cover the loss somehow— by sneaking some extra groceries under her coat again, if she has to.

Jason's finished with his breakfast by the time she emerges, sitting patiently and playing with the plastic dish she'd given it to him on. Her sweet baby brother, looking up at her with a smile so sunny you'd think they were living like kings.

Her chest feels tight and her throat's in no better condition. After a deep breath, she reaches down to grab his hands.

"Do you know what birthdays mean?"

He takes a second to think about it as she pulls him to his feet, then shakes his head.

"Birthdays, Jason," she says, grinning— it's harder to dwell when he's holding onto her hand— "mean birthday cake."

The gas station a block away at least has the miniature kind wrapped in cellophane. He won't know the difference, since he hasn't even been introduced to the concept of cake yet, but she'll still have to make it up to him with a real one someday.

—

By the time Jason turns two, Thalia has shoplifting down to an art form.

People are usually too busy fawning over how precious her brother is to pay her much attention, and having Luke along makes it almost easy. Jason adores him, and he's happy to draw focus away from her by translating the toddler babble and proclaiming that they're his favorite babysitting clients, which conveniently explains the lack of adult supervision.

Thanks to him, she's managed to get Jason something a lot better than cake.

She saw it in the window of a toy shop and immediately knew it was perfect, but it cost more than she'd scrounged in the past six months. She'd been resigned to the idea of stealing a brownie instead, and then last night, Luke showed up at her doorstep with it tucked under his arm and his face split into a wicked grin.

She's not sure she wants to know how he managed to smuggle it out without getting caught, but the way Jason lights up when he lays eyes on it, happier than she's ever seen him, is enough to make her ignore the uneasy feeling.

"Puppy!"

She can't help but mirror it back to him, her heart swelling with emotion as he flings his arms around the stuffed animal's neck. It's almost as big as he is.

"That's right. It's a wolf puppy. She's named after a mama wolf called Lupa."

The real Lupa is the matriarch of a pack living at a conservancy in San Diego county. Her likeness is an embodiment of the fiercely protective love Jason should have gotten from his own mother, and which has fallen to Thalia and her limited capabilities instead.

Jason rolls over, still holding tight to his new doll, and lays his head in her lap. If she's coming up short, he certainly hasn't noticed.

"My Lupa?"

He's gently petting the wolf's fur, in a movement that's strikingly similar to how Thalia's petting his hair. She blinks a few times to chase away the burning in her eyes.

"Your Lupa."

She can't give him the childhood that he deserves. It's a struggle to make sure even his most basic needs are met, and some days it feels like the whole world is united against them, but then he hugs her leg or curls up against her shoulder or tells her in that sweet voice love you, Taya—

And everything settles in her chest, refining itself into a white-hot determination.

She's all he has, and the one thing she can make sure he'll never want for is someone who loves him enough to fight for him.

She understands how the real Lupa must feel about her cubs. She knows, with more certainty than she's ever known anything, that if anyone so much as thinks about hurting her little brother— hurting her baby— she'll tear them to shreds with her teeth before they have time to run.

—

Everything is perfect. Thalia's made sure of it.

The party doesn't start for another hour, so she has to keep Jason occupied until then. He thinks she has lunch reservations and they're meeting at her place for coffee first— the second part is true; she has a pot of Kona ready to go as soon as he arrives.

While she's preparing his decoy surprise, the rest of his friends are in Manhattan, helping Percy and Sally get his bash underway. She finds herself quivering with excitement as she puts the last few touches in place.

The doorbell rings and she squeaks, shoving the main item behind a bookshelf before racing to answer the door.

"Happy birthday, shrimp." She stands up on her tiptoes and hugs him around the neck. "I have something for you."

Jason beams, pink, and squeezes her back.

"I told you last year that you don't have to get me anything. Your company is a gift in and of itself."

"Ha ha," she counters dryly, knowing he can hear her getting a little emotional at the sincerity on his face. "Very funny. Like I'm not going to try to make up for the ten of them that I missed."

She takes hold of his arm and pulls him into the apartment, past the kitchen to the hall that leads to her bedroom. She opens the door beside it, the one that used to be her study.

Jason's eyes go wide.

The desk is still there, but the chair is new, much larger than the one she used. The bookcase is the same, too, but she's put her video games in a box in her bedroom and filled the shelves with fresh sketchbooks and paints and pencils instead. The bed is new too, as well as the nightstand and the dresser.

Sally stripped and varnished all of the wood, and built a set of floating shelves that are currently storing a series of framed photos from Annabeth's camera reel. Piper decided on the paint colors— sky blue with a deep purple accent on the wall that slants to the ceiling. Leo took care of borrowing Jason's favorite sketches to make the framed prints above his bed, by pretending he was doing a photography project with them.

(He'd burst into laughter when she gave him Jason's baby drawings to frame too, and she'd almost punched him in the mouth— but then she'd noticed his voice was a little tight when he told her the crayon scribbles looked just like her.)

"Wow," Jason breathes, staring around the room as though he doesn't know where to land his focus. "This— is all of this for me?"

"Anytime you need an escape, you've got one. Think of it as your safe house. And there's one more thing."

Reluctantly, she steps away and retrieves what she hid earlier.

Jason's mouth drops.

"Lupa," he whispers, raising his hand. He stops himself halfway through reaching over, like he doesn't know if he should. "How did you find another one? I thought they were a limited run."

Thalia takes his hand, wrapping his fingers around the new doll's front leg.

"I traded twenty-seven ultra-rare mint-condition beanie babies for her with a collector in Montana."

"Do I want to know how you got twenty-seven ultra-rare mint-condition beanie babies?"

"It's not as sordid as you're thinking, I just spent a lot of time on Ebay."

Jason laughs, shaky, and sits down on his new mattress. He's probably not even conscious of the way he's running his thumb over Lupa's paw, exactly the way he did the first time.

He said that donating the original to charity was his idea, but Thalia has a suspicion he was pushed into it with a healthy dose of shaming and manipulation, and the look on his face— shocked, bright-eyed, a little scared like he thinks she'll disappear if he blinks— pretty much confirms it.

Thalia sits beside him and wraps an arm around his back. He slides down along the mattress until he's lying with his head in her lap.

"My Lupa," he says quietly, and she knows he remembers doing it before.

"Your Lupa," she chokes back. "For real, this time. Nobody's going to take her away from you, ever again."

It's different now, because Lupa is about the size of a two year old child, and Jason very much no longer is. She fits in the crook of his elbow, and he couldn't wrap his arms and legs around her if he tried.

Thalia tries not to think about all the nights between then and now that he's needed her, and didn't have her.

He smiles, wiser than his fifteen years.

(He's fifteen years old. God. She missed so much— thirteen months isn't long enough to even really begin to catch up.)

"I know they won't," he tells her. "You won't let them."

She's never going to get those years back. The only thing she can do is make sure she appreciates what she has now.

"I believe you would."

"I'll bite anyone who tries," she whispers back, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He bursts into laughter, reaching up to ruffle her hair like she used to do to him.

@perseusjackson-jasongrace @msdrpreist I still feel self-conscious about pinging people tell me if you'd prefer I didn't difjvhg

[newhologram]

I've been doing some thinking and realizing just how far back this all goes. Those of you who know me and my family IRL may have a hard time believing the emotional abuse and gaslighting because whenever you've met them, they seemed fine. They may have even bragged about me to you which made you think that they thought very highly of me. They also may have neglected to inform you that I have been disabled by chronic illness the past 10 years (many of my other family members had no idea until they spoke to me personally. It's... really fucking weird? To just not tell anyone that your offspring is in bed all day in horrible pain and constantly at the doctor/ER?). Unfortunately this is also part of the gaslighting, putting on a persona of parental perfection so that no one believes me when I try to talk about it. Instead people, even within my family, make excuses for the abuse and say that I should just be grateful. Behind closed doors it's always been very different. In the event that me processing this in private spaces gets out to them (which WILL endanger me): This isn't about *~exposing~* or *~revenge~* or *~punishment~*, it's about putting the pieces together and saying, yeah, I'm right to finally put my foot down about the way I have been treated. This is my experience. This is my trauma. I'm finally claiming that after a lifetime of being told that these experiences and my pain around them are apparently "not real" (gaslighting). By talking about this, I am not victimizing myself, but empowering myself. Because none of this treatment was ever my fault. None of it was ever deserved. And none of this is to be blamed on my "response" to abuse. I hope that by talking about this I can paint a picture of the dynamic and inspire investigation into the health of your own family dynamics too. "But they're family" is literally what enables this kind of abuse to continue. And I'm done. My health and survival is more important than upholding a toxic family system. They're learning that the hard way, finally. I don't think my family members are bad people. I truly do love and care for them. They have some amazing qualities. They love animals and they've come a long way to now being LGBTQ+ allies even if they don't always use the right words. But they have a lot of flaws that most likely come from their own trauma... But these aren't just self-contained flaws. Because I am the one who will be undoing the damage for the rest of my life. I don't know if they will ever go to therapy themselves, but I certainly won't be waiting around for them to work on themselves if it means I'm going to continue to be mistreated and re-traumatized. - It's always been this way but things definitely got worse in my home when I became disabled (possibly bc it triggered insecurities in them?). Both parents ignored me to my face all my life. I'd say or ask something, and there'd be no response most of the time. If I said, "hey, I'm talking to you, that's rude" they would blow up at me about "WHAT. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY. I HAVE THINGS ON MY MIND OKAY I HAVE MY OWN LIFE". This happened even when I was a literal child. I grew up believing that nothing I had to say was worth hearing and that if they ignored me that it was because I was unimportant and annoying. But if I ignore them or take too long to respond because I'm thinking, they scold me me about being rude, that they are my parents and I need to respect them. My emotions and pain have been invalidated since I was a child too. I would get picked up from afterschool care, or my bully's house, and of course I'd be crying from enduring a day of bullying. I would say, "I didn't do anything to them, it's not fair." And my dad's response was always, "WELL GUESS WHAT LIFE'S NOT FAIR. WAIT UNTIL YOU'RE AN ADULT IN THE REAL WORLD." He has continued to say this to me on a regular basis whenever I am struggling, either with work, friends, relationships, a death, or my chronic illnesses. I wonder why he has never considered my world to be real? Why is my reality not real to him? What

makes that even more painful is that I was still sent day after day to the school where I was bullied, to afterschool care with my bullies, and to my bullies' homes. No matter how much I was always crying when they picked me up, they just kept sending me back. And then a few of my dad's girlfriend's had children who bullied me too. I literally could never escape it. If it wasn't that, his response to me crying about something would be, "YOU HAVE NOTHING TO CRY ABOUT. YOU'RE LIVING THE LIFE OF LUXURY HERE, YOU DON'T PAY RENT! JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU'RE OUT THERE HAVING REAL PROBLEMS!" Again, he said this to me when I was a 24 year old who was suddenly in the span of a year so disabled that I could barely work. I was scared for my future, because I had taken the time to educate myself about my illnesses, and I knew that things were going to be hard for me. What I needed was support, not "tough love" and emotional invalidation. I was also scared of the situation I am in now. I was scared that I was going to be too sick to afford to move out and that by age 30 I would still be stuck at home with a parent who did not see my reality, my pain, as real. I am living that and it's not fun. Whenever I tried to talk to him about this invalidation, it just turned into a fight, because he refuses to admit the things that he said, and says things like "That's a You Problem" which he has said since I was a child in response to him hurting my feelings. I have always thought it was worth the effort to communicate to my loved ones this sort of issue, because that's what I was taught at school. If there's an issue, you talk about it. But my family doesn't believe that I guess. - When I first got sick, I was throwing up a lot. It had built up over several years since I was 19 but then after I was officially diagnosed with my Big 4 (colitis/fibro/ME/narcolepsy) I started having really dangerous vomiting attacks. The first attack I had lasted 6 days. I lost 12lbs. I overheard my dad complaining on the phone to a friend that I was keeping him up all night throwing up. I felt so bad for bothering him, I had learned to value his comfort over mine. But after the third day of nonstop vomiting, I told my dad I needed to go to the ER, that something was wrong. He sighed and rolled his eyes and said I didn't need to go. He was so annoyed with me for being sick. I was completely pale. I hadn't eaten anything. I could barely keep water down. I argued but he wouldn't listen. I went back to throwing up, at this point just dry-heaving. A while later I said, "I'm taking myself to the ER." I grabbed my car keys and my dad stopped me. He said, "That's ridiculous, you aren't driving yourself to the ER, I'll do it." But he still wouldn't take me for some reason. I don't know if he just didn't want to pay the copay or what. But I was literally trapped. I tried to fight it and said, "If you're going to take me, then take me. If not, let me take myself." I kept throwing up for three more days before he finally agreed to take me. The ER was packed so I ended up going to urgent care, where the nurse scolded me. She said I really should've gone to the ER after the third day of vomiting. She said that if I had gone a 7th day I could have collapsed. I didn't know how to tell her that I had tried. She asked where my family was and I said my dad had to go to work so he had just dropped me off. She had tears in her eyes and she held my hand. She said, "he should be here with you." THAT is how sick I was. That year, I went to the ER three more times. Each time I would be sobbing and ashamed of myself just for bothering my dad and for him having to pay the copay since I was too sick to earn the money myself. Again, that's how little I had learned to value myself and my health. By my birthday that year, I was suicidal from this shame. A few months later, in the new year, I started having vomiting attacks again. My dad stood over me while I was hunched over the toilet gagging and he said something I will never be able to forget, "You need to snap out of it

because I can't go through this again." He was the victim of my illness. He was the victim of my pain. This year was when my dad told me that he and his gf had been "talking" and that they had decided it was "time for me to be independent". He said they'd even help me find an apartment. I cried and said, "Dad, I'm sick. I've been so sick the past year. How am I supposed to afford even splitting rent with a roommate when I'm in bed in a neckbrace all day long?" and his response was, "But your dad needs his bachelor pad." I couldn't even identify what I was feeling. I was so shocked. Did he really think having the apartment to himself so he could have girls over was more important? But he was always telling me that I was the most important person in his life. I was so confused.

He gave me a time frame to move out and I was terrified. I thought my life was over. But most of all, I thought, "it's not fair to my dad that I'm sick." I thought so little of myself and my pain because that is what I learned as a kid. I blamed myself for not being "strong enough" to power through these debilitating illnesses. I blamed myself for my dad's money troubles. I literally could not live with myself knowing that my dad had to support me. I was so ashamed that I learned to vomit quietly so that he wouldn't notice. I was in a constant state of suicidality for several years after this. And it's no wonder, because year after year my dad has barged into my room to harass me about "it's time to be a Real Adult! It's time for you to Contribute to the household! You need to Make Money! I'm HEMORRHAGING money supporting you! I'm having to use my savings!" and because I was too sick to do this, I felt like a complete failure who did not deserve to live. I was self-harming constantly because I hated myself for "doing this" to my father. He had convinced me that I was the villain. I would start freaking out about money, forcing myself to work even if it meant vomiting literally on set (and almost being sent home bc of it, but I insisted I was fine to work). But I still couldn't make enough to afford my medical expenses. So I would shame-spiral and be suicidal again and then suddenly the story would change. My dad did a complete 180 and said, "Why are you even worried about money? We're doing fine. Even if I didn't have to support you, it wouldn't make that big of a difference in the money that I spend on this household. Don't worry about it." And then as soon as bills were due, he was back to telling me that I needed to make money. Back to saying we spent too much money on food despite me not eating that much. Back to refusing to try shopping somewhere cheaper when I suggested ways to save money. When I brought this up to my therapist back then, she said, "He's giving you mixed messages. Maybe you should bring this up to him so he realizes he's doing it." But when I did bring it up, of course my dad denied doing this and called me ungrateful even as I worked two jobs. When I eventually got a third job (fucking up my health more) to pay off my medical debt, my dad patted my back and told me how proud he was. When I told my therapist that he denied it, she suggested I bring him in so she could help us communicate. When I asked him to come with me to therapy, he got angry and said, "I am NOT going to therapy with you, that is ridiculous." But even with those 3 jobs it still wasn't enough and I was constantly being pulled between "YOU HAVE TO MAKE MONEY RIGHT NOW END OF THE WORLD" and "uhh why are you even worried about money, you need to work your mindset..." When bugged about money I would ask, "What else do you want me to do? I'm working 3 jobs. I'm not hiding money from you. I'm sending you everything that is leftover after I pay my own bills. I've even been buying a lot of my own food, I've been living off ramen and cans of ravioli." And he never had an answer except "just make more money." -- Now to the dynamic I'm currently living in. My dad moved his gf and her dog in without talking to me about it to see if it was going to impact my health. She was only supposed to stay here for maybe 4-5 days while she figured out a new home situation. But when I asked my dad about it in the days leading up to her arrival, suddenly the answer was "oh, she's staying indefinitely." I had no say in it. But we had a talk about what I needed to make this work. I said to my dad that the most important thing was that I have some scheduled quiet time. If I'm recording content or editing audio, I'm going to need quiet that morning so I can get my work done. If I'm resting, I need there to not be shouting or slamming doors happening in the house. He assured me that this was fine and that it'd all be easy for the three of us. The first weekend she was moved in, I let my dad know that I was editing audio that morning and needed

some quiet. He was cheerful and said, "No problem!" I thought wow, this is different. This is nice! This is going to be great for my productivity and health. As soon as I started editing, his gf was blasting music in the kitchen (right next to my room) and they were both laughing and talking loudly just a few steps away from my door. I thought, okay, we talked about this. But I'll just power through. When I was done, I went to my dad and said in a calm manner, "Hey, so this morning I let you know ahead of time that I was editing audio but there was still a ton of music and stuff in the kitchen, so it made it take a lot longer for me." His eyes immediately went dark. He put on an angry parent voice and said, "Okay, I am about to pop. I have enough going on without worrying about making too much noise for you." I said, calmly still, "We talked about this, though, and you assured me it wasn't a problem that I needed this quiet time for editing. So I'm not sure what to do. I'm just letting you know that there was still loud music right next to my room even though we had talked about it." He responded, "Then you need to be more specific because I don't know what you're doing in there." I corrected, "But I told you this morning that I was going to be editing audio and you said it was no problem to have some quiet in the kitchen while I did so." He got more aggressive, "No, you need to be more specific." Again, "I was specific. I told you the time frame that I was going to be editing audio in. You said you understood. I don't know what else to do to fix this other than by openly communicating to you about it." I started crying because--I mean, uhh?? This is gaslighting. I couldn't believe that mere hours after I had specifically told my dad that I was editing audio and that he had assured me it was no problem to have some quiet, that he was accusing me of not telling him what I needed, and that he had not agreed to it or something. Like wtf. He got nastier and blamed me for his stress. But me crying triggered his guilt so he tried to soothe himself by hugging me like he does and I pulled away. I tried to emphasize to him that I'm not just making content for fun. I'm literally trying to make money and contribute to the household like he has told me I need to do for the past 8 years. And when he disrupts my editing process, it just makes it take longer, and it makes it harder for me to earn extra money. His gf was also super rude to me when I tried to be friendly and have a conversation with her. I was telling her about how great it felt to have my sister initiate a conversation about my gender identity and she interrupted me (like she does constantly) to say, "YOU KNOW YOUR SISTER DOESN'T ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT, RIGHT?" (wtf...) After this, I didn't speak to them for three days. I was feeling the urge to self-harm that whole weekend and all I could do was stay in bed crying after that. I knew if I spoke to them I would just get triggered so I was protecting myself. My dad felt guilty and tried to talk to me in my room. I tried to explain how triggering this whole situation is for me and he said he would do anything to make it easier for me. I had told him what I needed but that he had gaslighted me about it. - This next and last part is going to illustrate the priorities in this household. A few years ago, I started having problems with hives. I spent almost a whole year having very painful breakouts all over my body. It kept me up all night and caused me so much discomfort during the day. I kept telling my dad about it (no response, or annoyed responses), I went to the doctor several times about it (useless ointments), and suffered month after month. I tried so many things, I thought maybe it was bugs, spiders, etc. My asthma was also acting up and I remembered that an ex-neighbor had been suspicious of mold because of their health issues getting better the second they moved out. They had told me back then that we should test for mold. I brought it up to my dad that I had been suffering from this for

long enough and that we should do something about it (mold also makes fibromyalgia and ME way worse). He angrily snapped, "What do you want me to do about it?" I suggested we ask the landlord to mold test the apartment. He refused bc he doesn't like to bother the landlord. I said that I would just order a mold kit myself and he said, "No, let me do it, I'll pick the right one." But he wouldn't even after I kept reminding him. Even after I sent him links to mold kits that we could order. After I got rid of my mattress, my hives got a lot better but I still have issues every now and then. For years I have just lived with this because I couldn't get him to even care about the fact that I was spotted with these big pink hives. When his gf moved in, we had a random rainy day, which seems to have activated the mold. His gf got one tiny little hive and the sniffles. She said to him once, "Hey, I think you have mold in this house." Want to guess what happened after that? You're right. He immediately ordered several mold test kits. I said to my therapist, "How am I supposed to feel about that? Is it really unreasonable, am I really in the wrong to feel hurt by that?" My therapist said, "I mean, I would feel completely invalidated and like I didn't matter." This isn't the first time empathy has been withheld from me obviously (above examples during my flare ups), but sometimes even when it's right in front of him he just can't bring himself to care for some reason. One time a big piece of glass was in my thumb. I said, "Ahhh, glass, help! Glass!" He was eating snacks in the kitchen and just glanced at me, didn't move or say anything. I realized he wasn't going to help, so shaking and bleeding, I managed to pull the glass out with tweezers very painfully. It bled so much and I stood over the sink trying to stop it. My dad just kept eating his snacks, not asking if I was okay or anything, he didn't even look at me. After 5 minutes I still couldn't get the blood to stop and asked my dad if he could help, maybe get me some gauze. He put food in his mouth and sighed, "Just put pressure on it" and walked away. It feels like he's just disgusted with me. I know that he does love me and that he's trying the best he can with all of his mental/emotional/personality flaws but he thinks that just because he puts a roof over my head that he can treat me however he wants and not work on his issues, that it's my fault for being hurt. He thinks that his issues are all on me to learn to endure and it's not right. I know that he resents me for getting in the way of him having a relationship because that's the only message I have gotten since childhood, with every woman he's brought into my home. But in the end his relationships always fall apart because the woman ends up realizing, and stating to him, that he is "emotionally absent". And every time, I comfort my dad through the break up. When he has tried to blame his ex I said once to him that therapy can really help him with his emotional issues and relationships. But he refuses, so. That's on him. But I refuse to believe that I am in the wrong here for saying enough is enough. But he's going to keep trying to make me believe that the problem is just me and my feelings, not his behavior. Nope. Boundary is up. I just have to keep to myself and do what I need to do to stay safe until I can move out. Because I guarantee you he's going to realize he doesn't get enough validation from his gf and then come running back to me as always and then be angry that I'm still holding my boundary strong. I know that this will hurt less as I get distance from it, but I don't like the idea of my pain being my fault when I grew up with this toxic stuff. I'm working so hard to make it hurt less but I can't heal if it keeps happening, so all I can do is back away from what is hurting me instead of being surprised when I'm hurt again. THAT is on me 100%. Hopefully he doesn't grab my desk and slam it against the wall again like in 2014 when I first tried to set this boundary. And of course when he

"apologized" he accused me of "punishing him" by not spending time with him. Jee-zus, dude. Get therapy. I can't be the only one in this family bearing this weight and working on my shit.